


By Right of Conquest

by soseta



Category: Original Work
Genre: Display of Ownership, F/M, Openly Raped in Public, Raped to Cause Humiliation and Loss of Status, Spoils of War, Victim Forced to Choose Which Hole is Raped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soseta/pseuds/soseta
Summary: Turns out he knows the laws of the land better than she thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [praxyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/praxyn/gifts).



The Royal Guard fought to the last, no Queen could have asked more of them, but surrounded as they were, and cut off from the main body of the army by the sheer mass of the enemy's forces, their last desperate attempt to spirit her from the field was doomed to failure. She began to recite the prayer for the dying as she pulled a small dagger, all other weapons broken or lost, from her belt. She would take one more of the invaders to Hell with her before they killed her. And her people would fight on. That knowledge would be a comfort as she died.

They pressed in upon her from all sides and she struck at them with the last of her strength. There were so many of them, and they were so _big_. They towered over her, and she had been among the tallest of her people. She struck one in the belly, another in the thigh, but then hands were grasping at her shoulders, her arms. They pulled at her, even as she slashed at them, and as those hands flinched away others took their place. By weight of numbers they bore her to the ground, and as they forced the dagger from her hand she punched and kicked and bit at them. At last her strength was exhausted, and still they did not kill her.

One, clearly a Commander by the brooches at his shoulders, pulled a set of manacles from his belt, and though she struggled and cursed him, he managed to get them closed around her wrists. He hauled her back to her feet, and passed her bodily to two of the men.

"Take her back to camp," he ordered them. "Secure her, and await my return. It won't be long before we're finished here."

She spat at him, but he only laughed as they dragged her away.

* * *

It was, in fact, several hours before he returned. The two soldiers secured a second set of manacles around her ankles, removing her boots and leaving her barefoot, and then fed a chain through both sets before wrapping it around the central post supporting the Commander's tent. It was a solid thing, a tree trunk as wide around as her waist, and driven deep into the packed earth of the floor. There was no budging it.

The Commander had removed his armour when he finally entered, and washed at least some of the blood and filth of battle from his body. It was the first time she'd gotten a good look at one of the invaders up close without their monstrous iron helmets. He was younger than she'd expected, younger than her perhaps, blond like the majority of his men, and very tall. His face was handsome enough, though his eyes and the set of his mouth were cruel.

He poured himself a cup of wine at the table in the corner of the tent, and sat down in the only chair.

"They did fight hard, Lady," he said after taking a deep draught. "Very hard. You can be proud of that."

She ignored him.

"I know you speak the common tongue," he said, still in that infuriatingly calm voice. "So hear me. We march on the capital tomorrow. If you want to spare your people unnecessary bloodshed, I will permit you one last chance to surrender."

"My _people_ will never surrender," she spat.

"Well, we'll see about that," he said, smiling wolfishly. "But what about you?"

"Kill me," she said. "I will never say what you wish to hear."

He laughed. "Oh, that's the last thing I'm going to do."

He drained the last of his wine and put down the cup, then stood up and walked towards her. She struggled to her knees so that she could at least look up at his face instead of down at his booted feet.

"You are the Queen of a great people," he said, as he unbuckled his heavy sword belt and threw it onto the pile of furs that served him as a bed. "My country is small, and poor, and I am the second son of the King, at that. I have no fortune but what I will make myself."

"What do you want?" she asked, though as he unpinned his shoulder brooches and flung them likewise onto the bed she was beginning to guess.

He smiled at her again, that wide mouthed, sharp toothed smile she was already beginning to detest.

"A good fight always puts me in want of a good fuck," he said. "And that was a _very_ good fight."

"I'd rather die," she said.

"No doubt," he agreed, and dropped his tunic to reveal his fast rising cock. "No doubt. But as I said, that isn't an option tonight."

He stepped closer, and she pulled back as far as she could, until her shoulders met the post behind her. His cock was huge, flushing red with blood as it engorged, and it bobbed in her face like a living thing.

"I will bite it off," she said. She had heard of the perversions his people practised.

"Well. That's one hole off the table," he said. "So which will it be then? Cunt or arse?"

"What?"

"Which hole do you want me to fuck?" he asked, as though that was a question that might actually receive an answer.

When she ignored him he kicked her in the stomach with his booted foot. It drove all the air out of her, and she curled up at the pain. Still she said nothing.

He seized her by the hips and pulled her towards him, away from the post. She fought him as much as she could, shackled as she was, but he was very strong. His hands on her waist were massive, their span almost enough for his fingers to meet at her navel. There was no give in the heavy chain securing her, but it was long enough for him to pull her a foot or so away, and force her to her stomach. He shifted one hand to the back of her head, and pressed her face into the dirt.

"You are not Queen any longer," he said, and for the first time he sounded less than perfectly calm. "Now choose."

She bit her tongue. She would not give him the satisfaction.

His hands moved to fumble at the laces of her breeches. It took him a moment to figure out the knots, but then he was pulling the bindings free, drawing the heavy leather down her legs. It bunched around her knees, as effective a hobble as the shackles at her feet.

"Understand this," he said, and the last traces of good humour, or even humanity, had left his voice. "You are not Queen, you are not a General, you are not even my whore. You are my _property_. Now choose, before I get the entire Guard in here, and the dogs too."

Her mind raced wildly. She had not heard that about them, but she had seen the dogs, as monstrous and overgrown as their masters. It was barbarous, and for the first time she was terrified. But what to choose? What did he _want_ her to choose? If she did choose, would he laugh and do the opposite?

"Last chance," he said.

"My arse," she forced out.

"What?"

"My arse."

"What about your arse?" he asked, and he was laughing again, she could feel his chest moving against her back.

She breathed deep, and steeled her voice. "Fuck my arse," she said. She was no blushing virgin, in either sense, but as Queen she was the sworn bride of the Sky Father, and her cunt was reserved for him, and those she chose to represent him on Earth. Her arse was for pleasure, and while there would be no pleasure in this, there would at least be no sacrilege either.

"Do you want oil?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, _my Lord_." It was nothing. Just words. And she had seen his cock. It was far larger than any she had ever taken before, and it would be better not to take it dry.

He laughed again and got up, rummaged around somewhere behind her, then returned. He pulled her roughly to her hands and knees, helped her find her balance. He pushed her head down to rest on her shackled hands, leaving her arse high and exposed. She breathed deep, and thought of her people, and the way they would never surrender. They would elect a new Queen, and they would fight on.

His oiled fingers stroked over her arse, slipped into the crack between her cheeks, slid over her clenching hole. He stabbed in sharply with two at once, and she gasped out a moan as they breached the rim, pressed in firmly, not pausing as they sought her core. He thrust them in and out a few times, then withdrew to add more oil. She was under no illusion it was for him as much as for her.

He fucked her a few more times with his fingers, just enough to loosen her entrance and ease the way, then withdrew again. Behind her she could hear him stroking himself back to full hardness, his oiled hand slipping easily on his cock. She clenched her teeth and braced as well as she could.

His left hand took a firm hold of her hip, and he moved into position behind her, knees spread to straddle hers, his own hips moving into place against her. The head of his cock butted once against the back of her thigh, then she felt the fingers of his right hand as he moved it to aim properly at its target.

The blunt head slipped into her stretched hole easily, and with both hands on her hips now he pulled her back into his pelvis, hard, as he thrust forward with his hips. His cock slammed inside her, and even oiled as she was it was a gritty, painful slide. He was _much_ bigger than his fingers.

He pulled out most of the way, shifted his knees slightly for better leverage, and thrust in again. This time he went deeper, and she felt the breath being punched out of her. Once more he withdrew, and on the third thrust in he made it all the way, heavy balls slapping against her cunt, cock stabbing deep, deep inside. He held there for just a moment, long enough for her to drag in a breath, and then he started fucking her properly.

He held her still easily, even as her body instinctively tried to crawl away from him, and set up a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of her aching arse. His strokes were long and deep, pulling out almost entirely, only to slam back in again and again.

"That's good," he whispered in her ear as he leaned up and over her, hands shifting so he could wrap his arms around her tightly, hold her to him from head to toe, and envelop her fully. "That's so good. I knew you'd be good."

She screwed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth, and tried not to make a sound, but the way his hipbones were slamming into the backs of her thighs, the way his cock was stabbing deep inside her arse, the way the overstretched rim of her hole was starting to burn, all of it together was too much, and she began to moan. Hearing it excited him more, and he sped up, shorter thrusts now, but even harder than before.

His breath was hot and wet in her ear, and she could hear him grunting, curses and compliments mixed in with the wordless sounds of satisfaction. He slammed into her another four or five times, then came with a savage cry, a flood of hot seed coating her insides. He collapsed on her back and rested there for several minutes, before rolling off her, softening cock pulling free with an agonising jolt.

When he'd recovered he clambered to his feet, and from the sound of it pulled his tunic back on. She kept her eyes firmly closed. He threw a blanket over her, and patted her head like he would one of his damned dogs.

"Good girl," he said, then put out the lamps and climbed into his own bed, not concerned at all to leave her there, chained as she was.

She curled into a ball under the blanket, his cooling seed trickling out of her open hole and down the back of her thigh, and prayed to the gods for vengeance. She might not be Queen anymore, but she was not his property either. She would await her chance, and she would kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

She did not expect to sleep, but she must have done because she woke in the morning to the feel of grasping hands upon her. She opened her eyes to the sight of a young man, perhaps a page or body servant, remonstrating with the two soldiers who had dragged her into the Commander's tent the night before.

"Just get it done," he said, and walked back out.

The two men looked at each other, then set to work. One carefully loosed the chain holding her to the tent post, while the other held her down. Neither of them were armed, and she waited for a moment's opportunity, but it did not come. Together they picked her up, wrists and ankles still shackled together, and carried her out of the tent.

Everything was oddly quiet, and she realised with a shock that most of the soldiers had already departed, presumably with the absent Commander. Those remaining were dismantling the tents and loading up wagons. The two soldiers carried her into one of the last tents still standing, across a clearing strewn with the detritus of a struck camp.

The page was inside, along with a bathtub full of steaming water, and a number of other servants. The soldiers lifted her up onto a table and held her down while the page used a sharp knife to cut through the leather of her jerkin and breeches, and strip her to the skin without removing her shackles.

When she was fully nude the soldiers carried her to the bath and dumped her in without much care. The page approached with a washcloth and a bottle of oil, and proceeded to bathe her. His hands on her body were disinterested and professional, but she did not need to speak the invaders' language to know what the soldiers were saying to each other as they openly and unabashedly watched.

She flinched, despite her resolve, when the page reached between her legs with the cloth, and again when he pushed her to one hip so he could wipe between the cheeks of her arse and clean the last of the Commander's seed from her swollen and throbbing hole.

It was over soon enough, and she was pulled from the bathtub to be dried and dressed by the waiting servants. They rubbed perfumed oil into her skin, combed and braided her hair, and finally pulled a saffron coloured shift over her head. It was light and gauzy, and clung to every curve of her body. They pulled her bound hands free, and tied the straps of the dress together at her shoulders. The page himself pinned flowers into her hair and tied an elaborately braided belt around her waist. He stepped back to look at his handiwork, and nodded in satisfaction.

They didn't give her any shoes to wear, choosing instead to carry her back outside and place her in the back of one of the wagons. The two soldiers the Commander had assigned to her climbed in as well, and at the page's curt order the driver lashed the horses and they set off. With a sinking heart she realised they were headed to the capital.

* * *

The Commander was already there when they arrived, along with the majority of his troops. Engineers were setting up siege towers and catapults, preparing to assail the city, and the massed ranks of soldiers were fully armoured and ready to attack when the walls were breached.

 _If_ the walls were breached, she told herself. They were thick, and high, and had never fallen. She had confidence they would hold until her surviving Captains could rally their own troops and ride to the aid of the city. If they could trap the invaders between them and the city walls they would have a chance, despite their numerical disadvantage.

"There you are," the Commander said as she was brought before him. "We've been waiting for you. Have you changed your mind about ordering a surrender?"

"No," she said.

Every inch of the walls was covered in people: men, women, children, civilians in everyday clothes and the City Guard in armour alike. They would retreat inside when the bombardment started, but for now they had come to shout their defiance at the attacking forces.

"Too bad," he said, shaking his head. "Very well."

He raised his hand, and all activity ceased. The soldiers to a man fell silent, and the townsfolk on the wall likewise, to hear him speak.

"I claim this city," he shouted up at the parapets, "by right of conquest. I have defeated your armies. I have captured your Queen. And now, I take my privileges as the Sky Father's true son."

_"What?"_

She stared at him in horror.

He smiled his awful smile. "Did you think I came unprepared?" he asked. "I had a lot of time to study, back home, while my father and brother ran the kingdom. I'm well aware of your quaint traditions."

He snapped his fingers, and a detachment of his men pulled back the heavy canvas covering from what she had assumed was a work table. It was, in fact, a stone altar, very like the one in the temple at the heart of the city, where she coupled with the Sky Father at the start of every sowing season, to guarantee plentiful rain and a good harvest. They must have looted it from one of the smaller cities they had conquered on their way south to the capital. But to have carried it with them all this time...

"We have a Sky Father of our own, Lady," the Commander said, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. "But he is King, not Consort."

"No," she said weakly. "You cannot. This is sacrilege. Blasphemy."

"I claim your Queen," he shouted, and a muttering of shock and fear echoed through the assembled crowd. "I claim my place as the Sky Father's emissary on Earth. I claim this city as my own."

He waved a hand, and the soldiers who had revealed the altar seized her and carried her towards it. They laid her out on the frigid stone and set to unbolting the manacles binding her feet and hands. She lashed out at them with every bit of strength she had left, but there were too many of them, and one by one each shackle was removed, and her arms and legs spread across the altar.

There was a soldier at her head, pressing down on her shoulders, one holding each of her arms at the wrist, stretched taut and pinned down hard on the unforgiving stone. Another at each of her feet, holding her ankles, and two more at the sides of the altar, grasping her knees and pulling them inexorably apart.

"Don't do this," she begged, as the unmistakeable sound of panic filled the air, the horrified and heartbroken townsfolk crying out in bewilderment and despair.

"I gave you the choice last night," the Commander said. "You didn't take it. There are no more choices today."

He carefully untied the ornate belt from her waist, folded it, and placed it at her head.

"This is a marriage belt," he said. "Not that you know anything of our customs."

He took the top of her shift in both hands, not bothering with the ties, and tore it right down the front. The two pieces slipped to pool on the stone around her body, and she shivered in the cold morning air.

He turned away from her momentarily to address his own men.

"In the name of all the gods, above and below," he shouted, "I claim this woman as my prize, won by my spear and my sword and my own right hand. I claim this city as my own. I claim these people as my own. I claim this land as my own, and that of the heirs of my body. Now and forever."

The soldiers burst into rapturous applause, and he turned back towards her.

"I claim you as my own," he said. "To do with as I will."

He climbed onto the altar between her widespread legs, not deigning to remove his own clothes. The difference in his demeanour was clear. Last night had been sport, a mere trifle for his own amusement. This was ritual, for his people, and for hers.

He lay down on top of her, his full weight pressing her into the stone, and took her head in his hands, kissing her full on the mouth. She spat in his face, one last act of defiance. He slapped her, full force, and as her head rocked to the side he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I hope your cunt is as good as your arse," he said, "because I'll be fucking it every day until the city surrenders, and every day after that until you give me a son."

She started screaming then, calling down curses on him and his entire army, and his father and brother back home, but he just laughed, and fumbled at his tunic, pulling it out of the way. His cock prodded at her cunt as he shifted to find the right angle, glancing over the outer lips, and he worked a hand between their bodies to guide it in. The head slipped between her folds easily, and then with one savage thrust of his powerful hips he stabbed it into her to the hilt.

She screamed again as the massive organ forced its way inside her, and the soldiers laughed and cheered, and the people on the battlements cried out for mercy. The Commander ignored them all, and set to fucking her brutally, slamming his hips into hers hard enough to bruise, his balls slapping at her still tender arse. He fucked and fucked and fucked her, a barrage of pitiless strokes that felt like it would never end, until finally he shouted out in triumph and she felt his cock pulse inside her, followed by a deluge of warm seed.

He collapsed on top of her again, but this time he did not move off her or pull out. He lay there, cock still snug inside her, and stroked his hands up her sides till he reached her breasts. He took one in each hand, and leaned up far enough on his elbows that he could look her in the face and squeeze them at the same time. He smiled at her, and shifted, and to her horror she felt his cock twitch inside her, where it was still mostly hard.

"I can go three or four times a day," he said, rolling her breasts in his hands, and rocking his pelvis gently. "And I will, until you give me what I want. I can't wait to see these heavy with milk, and you suckling our child. A _true_ Earth Mother. There will be no more Warrior Queens in my kingdom."

She'd been crying for a while by then, tears silently trickling down her face, but at that point she began to sob out loud. He kissed her on the mouth, and on the forehead, and on each of her tightly shut eyes. He shifted on top of her, fully hard again without ever having withdrawn, and began to thrust once more. Having spilt his seed once already, there was nothing urgent about it, and he fucked her leisurely for what felt like hours.

Just as she thought she could truly bear it no longer, she heard the tumult as the city gates were thrown open, and the uproar of the soldiers as a delegation of townsfolk emerged. The Commander laughed and came, as if on cue, flooding her insides once more. This time he did roll off, sprawling beside her on the altar for a moment, before climbing to his feet to take the surrender.

The soldiers holding her had all let go, moving to join the celebrations for the end of the war, but she made no attempt to move, just lay there staring up at the treacherous sky.


End file.
